


Going Home

by Cheree_Cargill



Series: The Castaways [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Conflict, Escape, F/M, Free Traders, Runaway, Vulcan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 02:22:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16631054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheree_Cargill/pseuds/Cheree_Cargill
Summary: This is a sequel to "The Castaways".  After an argument with Sarek, Sapel can't stand it on Vulcan another minute.  He determines to get off Vulcan and home to Avalon by any means possible.





	Going Home

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Cheree Cargill and is copyright (c) 2008, 2016 by Cheree Cargill. This story is Rated PG.

"Unacceptable," declared Sarek, staring stonily at the young man standing before him. "This is completely unacceptable." The elder Vulcan's face was flushed with anger and Sapel could see that it was difficult for him to control his temper.

"I had no choice, Grandfather" the young Vulcan responded.

"You always have a choice, Grandson! You have shamed me with your actions!"

"But he provoked me," Sapel argued, his posture stiff with his own growing anger. "It was logical that I respond."

For a second Sarek seemed to tremble with the effort of keeping himself in equilibrium. "Logic had nothing to do with this and you know this perfectly well."

"He called me a derogatory name!"

"I have a full report from the ShiKahr security office. I know what he called you."

"I wasn't going to let him get away with that!"

"So you responded by striking him. How typical a gesture on the part of a Human."

Sapel's teeth and fists were both clenched. "For him or for me?! Why don't you say what you're really thinking, Grandfather? It's because I am Human, isn't it?"

"All right, let us speak plainly." Sarek's dark eyes were hard as obsidian. "Yes, it is because you are Human. Were you truly Vulcan, you would have been able to control your emotions and walk away from provocation. Instead, you acted without thought and upon pure emotion!" Sarek visibly calmed himself a bit, but continued in a steely voice. "When I agreed that you could come to live with us and attend the Terran Embassy School, you gave me your promise that you would behave with decorum. Now I see that this was a mistake. You will never be able to behave as a proper Vulcan while you associate with Terrans and in fact your behavior has worsened rather than improved during this time."

Sapel was shaking now. "Yeah, Terrans like my mother and grandmother! They're terrible influences on me! Why don't you just say that, too!"

"You will not speak of your Grandmother in that tone!"

"Why not? You obviously despise Terrans. And you're the ambassador to Earth, for Heya's sake! How have you managed to endure it all these years?!"

Sarek took a moment before answering. "It has been an effort," he finally ground out. "I will not discuss this further. Your altercation with the young man will not go without response. Tomorrow I will withdraw you from the embassy school and engage a Vulcan tutor to work with you on proper Vulcan behavior. This incident will not be repeated! And you will pay restitution to your victim's family for the dishonor you have shown them. Now go and meditate on your actions. Remember that you are a direct descendant of Surak and are in line for the First Seat on the High Council. Resolve yourself to accept this and study to prepare yourself for that high position. We will speak no more on this subject. You are dismissed."

Sapel whirled and marched out the door.

Behind him, Sarek sighed deeply and seated himself at his desk, steepling his fingers as he began his own preparations for meditation to calm himself.

He was only just beginning to settle himself when a soft voice spoke. "I heard all that, you know, Sarek."

The Vulcan turned to find the Lady Amanda standing beside him. "I am sorry, my wife. I had no intention of upsetting you."

The Human woman shifted on the support of her cane. "Well, I _am_ upset. You cannot treat Sapel as if he were full Vulcan. He is three-quarters Human. Simply because he _appears_ Vulcan, there is no getting around the fact that he is _not_ Vulcan! Further, you dishonor _me_ and Christine because we are Human. It is from us that Sapel gets his emotions and his temper!"

Sarek rubbed his eyes with one hand, sighing. "And what would you have me do, Amanda? I cannot allow him to lose that temper and attack another person simply because that person insults him."

"Consider his background, Sarek. He was born and raised on a world on which he was required to fight in order to survive. Those instincts go very, very deep. He has only been in the so-called 'civilized world' for about five years." Amanda's face was rigid with disapproval. "How can you expect him to behave as if he were raised in one of the most rigid, disciplined societies in the Federation? It is not logical, husband!"

Sarek lifted his gaze to his Human spouse. "Do not use my own logic against me, wife," he said, but with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I have long played that game."

"And I have long played it with you, Sarek." This time the small smile pulled at her lips, too. "Just remember whose blood also runs in Sapel's veins. Mine! And realize that Sapel is as stubborn as his father. You couldn't win the game with Spock and you won't win it with Sapel. Bow to the logic of _that_."

"I will meditate on this, my wife … if you will leave me in peace!"

"All right. Meditate and then have your dinner. I am going to eat in my bedroom. I'm tired." Amanda turned to go, leaning on the cane she required now to walk. At once, Sarek rose to assist her, but she lifted a frail hand to stop him. "I do not need assistance, husband. Return to your meditation. I will be fine."

She moved through the door and closed it behind her. Sarek sighed and sat back down in his desk chair. It was a long time before he was able to center himself and sink into communion with his Ancestors.

* * *

Furious, Sapel fled the residence and stormed toward the edge of the bluff that looked out over the desert and on toward the white expanse of Sas-a-Shar, better known as Vulcan's Forge. It was near sundown and he knew that it was dangerous to be out here after dark, but his anger made him careless and he almost wished that one of the big cat-like reptiles called _le-matya_ would attack him. He needed to vent his rage on _something_ and his urge to strangle it to death with his bare hands made him hark back to the planet of his birth, the wild and brutal Terra Two.

Deep inside, a mild voice gently reprimanded such a foolish thought. It was out-of-control anger that made him think that he could overcome a _le-matya_. The predators were not only four times the weight of a grown man, but their claws were poisonous. In fact, one had killed his father's _sehlat_ , I-Chaya, during Spock's _kahs-wan_ , and the big ursoid creature was the size of a Terran grizzly bear.

Sapel sighed shakily and calmed down, but he buried his face in his hands, despair beginning to replace the ire he'd been feeling. He _hated_ it here, not just living with his grandparents, not just in ShiKahr, but on Vulcan. He hated the culture. He hated the food. He hated the people. He hated the whole damned planet!

But what could he do? He could leave the city and go back to his father's rural estate of Keldeen, but it would be no different there. He would still be expected to live and act as a Vulcan, under the watchful eye of Spock. Since their return to "civilization" five years ago, his father had immediately returned to the person he had been most of his life. Only during his exile with Christine Chapel on Terra Two had Spock adapted to the man he had been there – liberated from the rules and regulations of Starfleet and Vulcan society, allowing his emotions free rein, resourceful, loving and even savage at times. All that was gone now, Spock cha'Sarek back in complete control.

No, Sapel thought. He had to get off this planet. He had to go _home_. But how? He was well known now as the great-great grandson of the legendary T'Pau, great-grandson of First Councilor T'Pel, grandson of Ambassador Sarek, and the son of Commander Spock. He was practically royalty, if the Vulcans had had such a thing. He wore fine clothing, the family sigil embroidered on its breast, and his long black hair had been cut into a sleek short cap many years ago. With his pointed ears and upswept eyebrows, Sapel looked fully Vulcan, although only a quarter of his blood held that background. Indeed, he took after his Human mother in that his blood ran red and not green.

He shook his head and wiped the wetness from his face, his gaze turning back toward the last rays of light from the orange sun sinking below the horizon to the west. It was nearly dark now and he knew that he must go inside before long. The family residence was shielded from the wildlife that roamed the Llangon Hills where the villa was located, but Sapel could not yet bring himself to return to the house of his grandfather.

Across the desert, a streak of light caught his eye, one rising up from the desert and heading toward the stars that were now appearing in the dark sky. At once, Sapel sat up straighter and revelation made him catch his breath. Of course! How could he have forgotten! The Vulcan Spaceport lay on the edge of the desert, far enough away that the sound of the ships that came and went did not bother the residents of ShiKahr. The port handled all manner of interstellar travel – Starfleet military ships, ambassadorial shuttles, traders of all races that imported and exported wares, private and commercial ships.

Rising to his feet, Sapel knew what he had to do. It would be risky and he didn't have a clear picture of how he'd manage it, but somehow he'd get on one of those ships. He didn't care where it was going as long as it was away from here

* * *

Sapel walked back to the residence but paused on the patio. He was loathe to go back into the house where his grandfather was undoubtedly waiting to reinforce his "lesson". Knowing what he needed to do, but unsure of how to do it, the young Vulcan stood for a moment in the twilight, taking a moment to smell the ambient perfume of Amanda's Terran roses in the air and watch the breeze move the plants in the faint reflected light from the windows.

It took him another moment before he realized that there was other light reflecting on the garden's plants. Turning, he saw that it was from the city lights of ShiKahr as the evening glow of the city shown in the dusk. A rare smile crept across Sapel's face and he had his answer.

He went out to the hangar where the family's speeders were parked. He had his own small craft, simple and basic, one that he was allowed to take to his classes and do errands. It was only configured for short runs, but this hampered him little for now as he slid into the main seat and closed the canopy. He wouldn't be going far … on land anyway.

"Old Quarter," he commanded as the speeder came to life.

"Old Quarter," responded the navcomp. "Designate location."

Sapel paused to think. He rarely visited that part of ShiKahr, but had enough knowledge to get him where he wanted to go. "Tal'Sal'Nava Hotel," he directed. This was a major landmark in the city and he could use it as a point of reference anywhere in that section. And that area was the section of the city that was closest to the spaceport. It was a part of the city that held numerous inns and businesses that catered to the traffic from the port, including several blocks of bars and restaurants that the native population rarely frequented, if nothing else because those establishments served foods and beverages repugnant to Vulcans. Considered a rough part of town, the ShiKahr security forces kept a presence there as well, but Sapel was certain he could avoid them. He did not plan on being seen if he could help it.

Satisfied with his goal, he engaged the drive and, with a soft whirr, the little speeder lifted on its repulsors and moved onto the street behind the villa. As Sapel sank back into the pilot's seat and fumed over his treatment by Sarek, the little craft blended into traffic and wound its way through the city toward its destination.

* * *

It was fully dark by the time the autopilot slipped the speeder into a curbside idling space alongside the vast sandstone edifice that was the Tal'Sal'Nava Hotel, awaiting either for Sapel to disembark or to receive further instructions.

Sapel had had time to think during the hour-long trip into the city. He needed to canvas the bars in Spacer's Town, but dressed as he was, he'd stand out like a shiny new strip of gold pressed latinum. He'd attract every pickpocket and prostitute that frequented the pleasure district like a magnet. No, he had to do something about his appearance, but he couldn't just slip into a clothing store and buy a whole new wardrobe. He had a credit wafer, of course, but using it would make him easy to trace by Sarek and Spock when he was inevitably missed. He needed another layer of deception between himself and his family, something that would divert them long enough to hopefully give him the time he required to make his escape.

A soft chime on the speeder's dash sounded, alerting him to the fact that it was still waiting for him to make a decision. This brought Sapel back to the present and he disengaged the autopilot and put the craft into manual. With no further hesitation, he maneuvered the little speeder to the front entrance of the hotel and shut it down. Before he even had a chance to get out, a valet had appeared at the driver's side and waited as Sapel popped the canopy.

"Welcome to the Hotel Tal'Sal'Nava, _sai_ ," the valet said as Sapel climbed from the cockpit and straightened to his full height, his face composed and regal. The valet glanced into the speeder and queried, "Is there any luggage, _sai_?"

"No luggage," the younger man replied. "I will be staying only a short while. You may park the speeder as you like."

"As you wish, _sai_ ," the valet answered and, as Sapel turned toward the front entrance, the man hopped into the pilot's seat and sped off to the parking structure at the rear of the hotel.

The glass doors slipped open as Sapel approached and closed almost silently behind him. He had never been inside the Tal'Sal'Nava before and he let his gaze quickly take in the vast lobby. It was done in Old Vulcan style, both ornate and subtle, the floor tiled in a soft orange and scattered with intricately woven carpets, upon which sat groupings of tasteful ivory-colored furniture. The walls were water-washed turquoise with tapestry hangings showing Vulcan history, shining bronze sconces providing indirect lighting. Chandeliers hung from the tall ceiling and softly lit the way to the accommodations desk.

With an air of nonchalance, Sapel approached the elderly Vulcan behind the desk, who rose at his approach and lifted his hand in _ta'al_. " _Mene sakket ur'seveh_ ," intoned the elder, who with a surreptitious glance at the sigil on Sapel's robe had recognized him immediately. "How may the House of Sal'Nava serve the _Sai_ Sapel cha'Spock cha'Sarek this evening?"

Sapel responded with the _ta'al_ greeting and answered in an almost indifferent tone, "A room for a single night, if one is available."

"I have a suite of rooms for the use of the scion of Taldeen," the older man replied, turning to the computer console on the desk.

"No, I only require a bed and a desk for work. The use of a suite for only myself would be illogical."

The old man nodded. "Understood, _Sai_ Sapel." His fingers flew over the console screen for a few seconds. "I do have such a room available. However, it is near the back of the building on a higher floor."

"Perfect. The quieter it is, the better for meditation." Sapel reached inside his robe and pulled out his credit chip, handing it to the desk clerk. "I wish to book the room for tonight. If I should need it further, please add the charge onto my account."

Within fifteen minutes, Sapel was pressing his thumbprint against the lock of the hotel room on the eighth floor. It opened at once and he stepped inside. Perfect, he thought, looking around at the small bedroom with a full computer console on the desk next to the window. Now to put the rest of his plan into action.

* * *

There was a soft knock on the door and Amanda looked up from her book. "Yes?" she said.

Sarek opened the door and stepped inside. "My apologies, my wife. I see that you have already gone to bed."

"Oh, I'm just catching up on my reading. You aren't disturbing me," she replied with a smile and laid the tablet aside.

"I am wondering if you have seen Sapel. I wished to speak with him once more before I retired for the evening, but he doesn't seem to be in the house." If possible, Sarek's craggy face registered a bit of concern.

"I believe I heard his speeder leave a couple of hours ago," Amanda replied. "I wouldn't worry. He's no doubt just riding around, working off his anger. He's probably gone into town for a while."

"I dislike him being out after dark," Sarek confessed, now definitely looking troubled. "He should be studying or meditating as I directed him. It is a waste of energy and time to 'ride around'."

Amanda couldn't help chuckling indulgently at her husband. "Sarek, he's 20 years old. Young men have been doing this since the invention of motorized vehicles. I suspect they were doing it for time immemorial before that. He'll be back when he's ready. Go to bed and stop getting yourself into a tizzy."

"I am not in a 'tizzy', whatever that is, wife," Sarek responded, drawing himself into his most distinguished demeanor. "Vulcans do not--"

Amanda waived a hand at him in dismissal. "Of course not. Vulcans never do anything they don't want to admit to. Sapel is fine. Go to bed. Let me get back to my book. I'm just getting to the good part."

"Very well, my wife." Sarek walked over to her bedside and leaned down to give her a soft kiss. "Sleep well."

"Good night, darling. You sleep well, too."

When her husband had closed her bedroom door, Amanda picked up her reading pad again and found her place. Scarlett was just lifting her hand to the heavens and declaring: "As God is my witness, I'll never go hungry again!"

* * *

Sapel settled himself at the desk computer station and keyed the small replicator unit beside the console and entertainment center. It had limitations – it would not replicate weapons, drugs or currency, but it would readily produce food, drinks, clothing, or other innocuous items. Having missed supper, Sapel tested it out by requesting a small platter of vegetables and a mug of chai.

These appeared immediately and he ate while he went "shopping". Browsing the online merchandisers, he found what he was looking for. In short order, he had a new jacket that would take the place of the robe he was wearing, minus the house sigil and which was rather non-descript. He considered his black pants and boots, but decided they were generic enough to get by.

Sitting back in his chair and popping a crunchy _taqa_ root into his mouth, Sapel pondered what else he would need. He did not plan on returning to his grandparents' home, knowing that he basically had only what he was wearing. Going back online to the clothing store site, he ordered underwear, socks, a light thermal jacket, hiking boots, tough casual pants and shirts, a floppy hat, a carrying pouch, and finally a backpack to stow them in. He wanted a steel hunting knife, but knew he would not be able to get it here on Vulcan. Weapons were forbidden outside of the portside barrier. He would have to find one somewhere off-world … if he made it that far.

He knew that all of his shopping was drawing off his personal credit chit and would be traceable, but he had thought of that, too. Once all of his purchases had replicated and been packed away, Sapel returned to the console for his final business.

The Family was an incredibly wealthy one and Sapel had not been denied his share. While missing from Federation space for a number of years, Spock had been declared dead and his estate went into the convoluted court system to settle. After turning up alive and well, the courts and Starfleet had to settle this new tangle, including the fact that Spock had returned with a wife and three children and then had two more born of his marriage to Christine Chapel after they had settled back on Vulcan.

Eventually all the snags were worked out and Sapel had found himself with a sizeable trust fund, along with his younger brother and sisters. They were all still underage and their funds were administered by their parents. Sapel, however, had reached his majority and was now in full possession of a nice income. He rarely used it, except for his tuition at the Terran Embassy School, study materials, clothes and personal items.

Now he needed a ready source of untraceable currency and he looked up the instructions for downloading funds onto a guest card. The Hotel Tal'Sal'Nava and the others in the port district catered to spacers of all varieties. Although the Federation credit was the standard form of exchange, there were many planets that still dealt in their own form of money and which would need to be transferred into a useable form.

Sapel called up his credit account and checked the balance. More than enough and he wouldn't take it all. Below a certain amount, an alarm would sound on the bank's system and alert Sapel and – unfortunately – his father and grandfather of possible unauthorized use.

The young Vulcan did not intend for that to happen. He decided that 10,000 credits would get him wherever he needed to go and would still leave plenty of cash in the account. Keying in the necessary codes, it took only a minute for a small golden card to pop out of the console, loaded with the necessary funds and usable at all the establishments in the port pleasure district.

Sapel was ready. Changing into his new jacket and leaving his family robe tossed across the bed, he pocketed the new credit chit, caught up the backpack and left the hotel room. With luck, he wouldn't be back.

* * *

Spock was bent over his desk, obviously deep in thought, when Christine entered the study. He was quietly tapping the stylus in his right hand against his lip, his eyes lowered to the datapad that lay before him, and for a moment he seemed oblivious to her presence.

Not wanting to disturb her husband, Christine turned to the open double doors that led to the balcony and walked out to enjoy the evening air. This part of the main house at Keldeen faced west along the north slope of the Llangon Hills and over the rugged expanse the last glow of sunset tinged the sky a dusky orange. The heat of the day still lingered, but a cooling breeze was beginning to flow from the heights onto the plains.

With a deep sigh, the woman sank into one of the comfortable chairs and sipped at the cup of tea she'd brought with her, its rising steam just visible in the light from the room behind her. It was real Earth tea -- orange pekoe -- which some Terrans considered common and tasteless but which Christine had grown up drinking and which she still enjoyed, with a slice of lemon, thank you very much.

Keldeen was Spock's inherited family estate, home to numerous cousins and employees who carried out the day-to-day business of the huge agricultural domain. While he was titular Elder, in reality other members of the family were in charge of production. Keldeen supplied tons of _tikh_ grain to the planetary food supplies, as well as fruit, vegetables, dairy, and wool for clothing. Others oversaw the vast wildlife preserve that encompassed hills, another legacy that the family held in the name of the Vulcan people.

Christine had never expected that Spock's family was this important, and typically he had never said anything until they had returned to Vulcan to take up residence. Now that they had lived here for the past few years, she thought of it as home. If only the nagging little itch in the back of her mind would go away, she could be perfectly content here.

A quiet footstep brought her out of her reverie and she looked up as Spock settled into the chair next to her, his own mug in hand. His contained mulled _saya_ , she knew. She could smell the spices from where she sat. "The children are settled?" he asked, his gaze holding a gentle smile for her.

"All fed and the twins are bathed and ready for bed," she answered. "Jenny and Kaity are doing school work. Jen is complaining about it ... as usual." Christine's brows showed her consternation. "I'm wondering if we shouldn't send her to the Terran Embassy school in ShiKahr like we did Sapel. I don't think she's doing very well with Vulcan tutors."

"Perhaps. She has always been the most Human of our children and the least suited for Vulcan education."

"Kaity is just the opposite. I think she's got her tutors scrambling to keep up with her." Christine shook her head. "It will be interesting to see how the babies do when their formal education starts."

"They are old enough now," Spock replied. "They are three years old, which is the time Vulcan children normally begin academic training."

"I know ... but I want to keep them with me so much! They are just growing up too fast!"

Spock reached out and squeezed her hand. "As children are wont to do."

His wife smiled sheepishly. "I know. I'm just being a mother."

"And an excellent one at that."

Christine laughed and changed the subject. "What were you so engrossed in when I came in?"

"A problem," he replied cryptically.

"Problem? What problem?"

"The same one we have been discussing for the past three years."

"Ah." Christine took another sip of her tea and turned her gaze to the rapidly darkening sky. On the horizon, the last remnant of the sunset was still discernable, but the stars were beginning to show. The faint radiance of ShiKahr was discernable as a glow on the other side of the hills and now and then the streak of a ship from the spaceport could be seem as it headed out for space. Christine watched now as one disappeared into the blackness and was quiet as she waited for the faint whisper of its engines to reach across the distance. Her husband remained silent as well, but his eyes followed the streak of light until he discerned the barely visible kaleidoscopic of colors as it went to warp.

"So ... let's talk about it some more," Christine said with a determined tone in her voice. "Let's make a decision, one way or the other."

Spock cocked an eyebrow in her direction, amused. When his wife's face settled into that expression, it meant she'd pretty much made up her mind. "I concur," he answered, hiding his smile by taking a sip from his mug. "And what have you decided?"

"Decided? I haven't decided anything," she protested. "I just said we needed to discuss it some more. There's the kids' education to be considered, as I was just saying. How are they going to take being uprooted and moved to a colony? And there's the application and approval process to go through, which could take years. What jobs are we going to do there, although certainly they can use another doctor and your skills, but you've got Keldeen to think about--"

"Christine, how long we been bonded?" Spock interrupted.

"What? Twenty years, why?"

"And you believe that I do not know you by now?" He was smiling openly.

"Oooh ... shut up!" But it broke her seriousness too, for a moment at least, then she continued. "I mean it, though. We've been bandying this back and forth since before the twins were born. I'm sick of the indecision. Either we're going or we aren't."

"I fully agree with you, _t'hy'la_ ," he replied. "This continual debate serves no purpose except to waste time. So ... yes or no? I would like your honest opinion on the matter."

Christine closed her eyes and her brows knotted together for a long, agonizing time, then she whispered, "Yes. I'm scared to death, but ... yes!"

Spock's jaw tightened as he too considered the question, then he nodded as well. "Yes," he agreed finally. "Yes. We go back."

* * *

It didn't take Sapel long to locate his speeder in the hotel's garage and he tossed his bag into the storage space, then climbed into the cockpit and started the little vehicle. Putting it into manual mode, he drove down the ramp to the street level and turned right, heading for the pleasure district.

Within minutes he had reached the brightly lighted area and he found a parking area that he could relocate easily. Locking the speeder with his thumbprint, Sapel set off along the crowded street in search of what he hoped would be his way off of Vulcan.

* * *

It was after midnight and Sapel had been walking for hours. He had been into more bars, taverns, strip shows, hostels, and amusement arcades than he could count. His back ached, his feet throbbed, and he was ever-so-slightly nauseated from the drinks he'd been required to buy. At least there had been food in many of the places and he had helped himself in an effort to keep something in his stomach to counteract the synthehol. And still he had not found anyone willing to take him onto their ships. Discouraged, he decided that he'd give it one more attempt then give up for tonight and go back to the hotel.

The bar he entered was run down and the crowd inside didn't look much better. There were spacers of all races, many of whom Sapel had never seen before. Standing at the door, he spotted a group of Humans at the long wooden bar and decided they were his best bet.

He approached them and launched into the spiel he had been using . "Greetings, gentle sirs. I wonder if I might speak with you?"

One of the men turned to face him, beer mug in hand. He was middle-aged, brown haired and hazel eyed, dressed in standard trader gear that Sapel had seen on dozens of Humans in his search. He had a feeling that he would have looked more complete with a gun rig on his hip.

The spacer looked the young Vulcan up and down, then answered, "Nobody's stopping you, kid. But I ain't looking for a hookup."

"Oh, no, no!" Sapel responded quickly. He'd been propositioned several times in his search and hurriedly moved on. "I am looking for a ship to take me off planet. I'm afraid I don't have much money--"

"Sorry," said the lanky spacer as he turned back to the bar and took another long pull of his ale. "We don't take passengers."

"I'm not looking to be a passenger. I'm willing to work for my transport. I don't need pay or anything. Just a place to sleep and food and a jump to the next system."

The spacer captain eyed him in a disinterested way. "Don't need any crew. Besides, how do you know where we're bound? Maybe it's not where you're going." He downed another deep swallow of ale.

The Vulcan was beginning to look just a little bit desperate, if that was possible. "It doesn't matter."

"Our next stop is Salaxis," spoke up the huge, broad-shouldered man on the other side of the spacer.

The captain turned his gaze on his comrade, forced to bend his neck slightly to look up at him. "Is it now?"

The bigger man grinned in an embarrassed way. "Well, that's our port, ain't it, Cap? No secret, is it?"

"No," the captain conceded. "But we still ain't no ferry." He looked back at Sapel, his gaze hard. "Anyway, you look like you could afford a cabin on a cruise ship," he said, his eyes running up and down the boy's frame, noting the well-tailored clothing and expensive shoes. "Why do you want on an ol' bucket like _Mandalay_?"

The Vulcan fidgeted a bit. "I need a way off this planet," he said finally. "One that is not obvious."

The spacer finally turned to face him again and appraised him critically. "Why? Are you hot?"

For a long moment, the young Vulcan appeared puzzled then answered, "No, I'm quite comfortable, thank you. It's no warmer than usual."

On the other side of the captain, the big first mate spewed a mouthful of the ale he'd just taken and burst into loud guffaws, drawing the attention of the other patrons of the bar, before they turned back to their own business.

Both the captain and the Vulcan gave the mate a reproving glance, then the captain replied, "I meant, are you wanted by the authorities?"

"Oh! No, not at all!" The young man was slightly taken aback. "But it would be difficult for me to leave by regular means. My grandparents would try to stop me."

"Uh-huh." The captain pulled speculatively at his lower lip. "How old are you, son?"

"By Earth count, I am 20."

"Then you're of age. Why would Granny and Pops try to keep you here?"

There was another long pause, then Sapel answered cautiously, "I'd rather not discuss that here. It's a personal matter."

"So," said the big first mate, who'd now mopped his face of the spilled ale. "What'd you do? Knock up the maid? Embezzle the ol' man's retirement funds? Burn down the mansion?"

Sapel stiffened to his full height and his dark eyes hardened. He could tell this was going nowhere. "Thank you, gentlemen," he said formally. "I'll seek an arrangement elsewhere."

He turned to go but the first mate reached out and caught him by the upper arm. "Hey, don't get in a kink. I was just funnin' ya. Long as you ain't got the Feds after ya, we don't care what ya done."

The young man shrugged off the man's touch, but faced him proudly. "I simply am trying to get to the next system with as little fuss as possible. I can work hard doing manual labor and otherwise will keep out of your way."

The captain was still studying him silently but his cohort grinned and replied, "I'm startin' to like this kid, Cap. I can use another hand down in cargo. Whaddaya say?"

"Hmmm... alright. As far as Salaxis, no farther," the captain finally decided. "You work for Bully here. No pay, just a bunk, three meals and the oxygen you breathe. I find out you're wanted or you make trouble, we'll let you off somewhere in the Big Lonesome. You got that?"

"Uh ... the ... Big Lonesome?" The boy again looked puzzled.

"He means you'll take a long walk out a short airlock," the bigger man sneered. "Out where the air is thin and the chances of survival are somewhere between zero and none."

The boy gulped, his eyes wide.

Then the spacer laughed and stuck out his hand. "But we ain't spaced nobody in at least a turn, have we, Rud? Bully Hardman's my name. What's yours?"

Hesitantly, the Vulcan took the proffered hand. He was unprepared, though, to have his own hand swallowed up by the massive paw that took it.

"Uh ... D-David," he answered. "My name is David." He managed to extract his hand from the firm grip before it was wrenched off his wrist.

The captain didn't offer to shake, but was leaning back against the bar, elbows resting to either side of his body. It made him seem all the more menacing.

"David, huh?" he repeated. "Got a last name ... David?"

Again that _dalba_ -in-the-floodlights look flashed through the young Vulcan's eyes. "Uh ... Grayson," he stuttered after a moment of obvious frantic thought. "My name is David Grayson."

The captain's own eyes narrowed for a moment, then he straightened and hooked his thumbs in his belt. "All right then ... David Grayson, or whatever the hell your real name is. I'm Rudyard Kipling Smith, captain of the Free Trader _Mandalay_. 'Rud' to my friends. 'Sir' to you. We lift ship at 0530. You be at Dock A7 at 4. One bindle, no more."

"Bin ... bindle?"

Smith sighed. "One bag of belongings. This ain't the _Lyran Queen_. I close ship at 0430. Once sealed, I don't open. Be there or be left."

"Yes, sir! I'll be there! Thank you, Captain!" The Vulcan turned and hurried out of the saloon and into the gathering dusk.

Bully shook his head and turned back to slap the bar for another mug. "Probably he's really the High Potentate's by-blow," the big spacer grunted. "Tryin' to get away from the palace guards and all them stiff necks."

Smith retrieved his own brew and took a sip. "Vulcan doesn't have potentates and palaces, Bull. I just hope I don't live to regret this."

* * *

It took Sapel nearly an hour to walk back to where he'd left his speeder. He climbed into the cockpit and just sat for a while, resting and thinking. The chron on the dashboard showed it to be 0217 which didn't give him much time to get to the spaceport and the proper docking bay. He considered leaving his speeder here in the lot and taking a robocab to the port, but the cab's recorder would make it easier to trace him. They'd find the speeder eventually, but leaving it in a remote lot at the port might give him a little more time.

Decision made, he started the engine and told the navcomp, "Spaceport, trade entrance."

"Affirmative," the comp answered and lifted quietly, slipping out into traffic. As the autopilot sped him through the darkness of the Vulcan night, Sapel settled back and watched the ambient lighting of the Forge off to his left. Its whiteness shown faintly in the light of the stars and the city glow of ShiKahr. Some Vulcans thought it beautiful, but Sapel had never seen its appeal. Nothing lived on Sas-a-Shar except for the most hardened of native creatures and even they only came out at night when the murderous sun did not mean nearly instant death for anyone or anything foolish enough to challenge the anvil-like heat.

Sapel's soul craved the green and lush forests and plains of Terra Two which he had traveled as long as he could remember. He had been born there and he knew its joys and its dangers. He longed to explore it further, to climb its mountains and swim in its waters, to watch as the seasons turned and revel in its cycle of life. Closing his eyes, he could almost smell the scent of pines and hear the whisper of vast seas of grass bending before the wind.

A soft chime and the slowing of the speeder brought him back to the present. They had arrived at the trader entrance of the spaceport. There was a steady stream of traffic through the gate, both vehicle and pedestrian. A glance at the chron told him that it was now 0314. He'd have to hurry. Directing his speeder to the underground parking area, Sapel found a spot to leave the vehicle but before he shut down the engine, he had one last task to do.

He keyed the dash recorder and began. "Mama, Papa, I'm sorry that I've disappointed you, 'cause I know you probably won't understand why I have to leave. I've just got to get off this planet before I lose my mind. Say goodbye to Granny and Sarek for me, and to the kids. Maybe I'll see all of you again someday. I'll contact you when I can. Until then, I love you and I'll be alright."

He closed the recording and shut down the power, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. He didn't have time for emotions right now. He was barely going to make it to the _Mandalay_ in time. Pulling his duffle out of the storage compartment, he locked the speeder with his thumbprint and hurried toward the garage's exit. He still had to catch the port tram out onto the field and the proper dock before they closed the ship. It would be a close call.

* * *

The Vulcan youth going by the name of David Grayson showed up at Dock A7 promptly at 0400, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, a little out of breath, and was put to work within 10 minutes of arriving. First Mate and Cargomaster Bully Hardman directed him to stow his gear in one corner of the cramped ship's bay and then set him to the task of stowing the final load of merchandise they were hauling. The cargo area was already nearly full, but the assistant cargomaster, a dark-skinned woman called Jewel, expertly directed the final stowing and securing.

At 0430, the ship's speaker blared the captain's voice. "Bully? You squared away down there?"

Hardman thumbed the contact button. "We're square, Cap. Seal 'er up when you're ready."

"Acknowledged." The speaker shut off again.

Hardman turned to see David and Jewel standing beside him and the big man grinned. "Okay, kid, if you're gonna change your mind about going with us, now's the time to abandon ship! Once those doors seal, the next daylight you'll see will be on Salaxis."

For a second, Grayson peered out at the Vulcan night, artificial floodlights around the ship beating back the darkness, and something like longing flickered over his features. Then his young face settled back into resolution. "I'm ready, sir."

"Good kid!" Bully slapped him on the back, a blow that nearly knocked him off his feet, and walked away laughing.

David blinked and found his balance once more. There was a hydraulic whine and the cargo doors began to move into place, then closed with a soft thud and the buzz of the magnetic seal coming on. David felt his hair lift slightly in the static charge and involuntarily stepped back.

Jewel chuckled and said, "Come on, Dave. I'll show you where you'll be bunking. You can stow your gear and then we'll get up to the bridge. There's still work to be done before we lift."

* * *

Christine was already up when Spock appeared in the huge communal kitchen that fed the numerous residents of Keldeen. It was early, just barely dawn, but she was dressed and busy at work alongside T'Fen and T'Galia, two of Spock's seemingly countless cousins who came and went during the course of the day at the family estate. They were all at work preparing breakfast, this morning consisting of a large pot of _tikh_ porridge which was bubbling away on the heating slab, fresh fruit of various kinds, and slices of a rich red root vegetable that was grilled to crispy perfection. Christine was feeding chunks of _a'lkopa_ into a juicer and watching the golden yellow nectar drip into a clear pitcher.

Spock nodded politely to the other two women then went over to his wife. She gave him a small dignified smile of greeting and said, "I'd exchange a proper hello but my fingers are sticky from this fruit. There's coffee if you want it or _saya_ tea if you don't."

"I believe coffee will do this morning," he answered pleasantly and retrieved a large mug from the cabinet shelves. As he poured the steaming black liquid from the carafe, he continued, "You have arisen especially early today."

"My turn at KP," she replied, putting more fruit into the juicer. "And I've got an early meeting with my staff this morning."

"KP?"

"Old military term. Surely you must have done KP when you were a cadet."

"Oh, yes. 'Kitchen patrol.' I did not perform this duty at the Academy; however, I have practiced it a number of times on away teams and camping with the Captain and the Doctor."

She put the last of the fruit into the juicer, waited until it had run through its cycle, then turned it off and set the cleaning function to activate a few minutes afterward. Running her hands through the sanitizer and dryer, she turned and lightly touched fingers with him. "There. Good morning, my husband. I trust your sleep was restful."

"Quite restful, my wife. I thank you for your greeting."

Formalities over, Christine picked up the pitcher of juice. "Your assistance would be welcome, husband." She nodded to where T'Fen and T'Galia were grasping the heavy caldron of porridge and starting through to the meal room. It was clear that they were doing the job easily, so Spock instead took up the large tray with the beverages and condiments on it and followed the women. It wasn't long before the breakfast foods were laid out on the buffet.

T'Fen seemed satisfied and struck a small gong hanging from the ceiling. Its mellow tone sounded throughout the house and within a few minutes, the rest of the family, about thirty in all, began to gather quietly for First Meal. Among them were a dozen sleepy children, the little ones rubbing their eyes and yawning.

The various family groups took up their places around the long, low table, all standing and awaiting the morning invocation. Two of the smallest children were led in by a Vulcan teenager. Barely more than toddlers, the little boy and girl were deposited on either side of Christine who fondly and quietly encouraged them to stand beside her as the teenage girl moved to her spot on the opposite side of the table. They were followed by another little girl, about five years older than the babies, who solemnly took up her place by Spock. For a long moment, the group waited but the open spot on the other side of Spock remained unfilled. The group began to glance toward the door, obviously beginning to grow a bit impatient.

Finally Spock looked down at the child beside him and inquired softly, "Where is your sister?"

"Still in the bathroom," the little girl answered.

Spock gave an imperceptible sigh and straightened again. This was becoming an everyday occurrence.

At that moment, a teenaged girl hurried into the room and quickly took her place beside her father. She appeared Human except for the slightly Vulcan cast to her brows and her ears. "Sorry," she muttered.

"Nice of you to join us," Christine muttered back.

The girl gave her a sideways glance, but didn't reply. The breakfast table wasn't the place to get into an argument with her mother.

Now that the entire family was assembled, Spock as the Elder of Keldeen, led the group in the short morning meditation and reverence of their Ancestors, the few moments of silence with steepled fingers that allowed each person to calm and center themselves and reflect on the bounty of their First Meal of the day.

When the individuals of the family began to stir, they moved in orderly fashion to the buffet and began to collect their food. Christine fixed the twins, Soran and T'Larin, each a plate of fruit and toast, juice and porridge, and settled them onto the cushions on either side of her where she could supervise them. They were three years old and had been born on Vulcan, the surprise result of Spock's last _pon farr_. They were especially precious to Christine because she knew there would be no other children after them. She would be past child-bearing age the next time around. And these two babies were the very real reincarnations of two she had lost so many years ago, their living katras held within her when she, Spock and their older children had been rescued from their long exile on Terra Two, now called Avalon. To all appearances, they were typical Vulcan children except that they had both inherited their mother's sky-blue eyes.

The middle daughter, eight-year-old T'Kai, returned to the table and regally settled upon her cushion next to her little sister. Petite and seemingly fully Vulcan, she had Spock's dark hair and eyes. Her mannerisms too had been Vulcan almost from birth and Spock believed that she held the reborn _katra_ of one of Sarek's sisters, who had died when Spock was a boy.

Thirteen-year-old T'Jenn, on the other hand, was her mother's daughter. All of the children were three-quarters Human and a quarter Vulcan, but Jenny barely showed a trace of her Vulcan blood. With deep brown hair that tended to streak blonde and bright blue eyes, she could have passed unnoticed in any group of Humans. In fact, she thought of herself that way and had always been emotional and stubborn.

"Feisty" is how Christine had described her once to Spock. "Like her mother," he had responded with a smile and kissed his wife fondly.

Jenny was now picking at her porridge in a desultory fashion as she sat on the other side of her father. Spock took notice and gave her a disapproving look. "You need nourishment in order to perform your studies well," he told her in a low voice.

"I'm sick of this stuff, Pa," she answered, knowing that she needed to keep her voice down. Contrary to popular belief, Vulcan meals were not eaten in silence, but neither were they locations for loud conversation.

"It is satisfactory food and you will not dishonor your cousins who prepared this meal," he admonished her.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry." Jenny began to eat, but without much enthusiasm. She was aware of the quick, disapproving glances directed toward her by T'Fen and T'Galia and other members of the clan. Suitably chastened, she directed her attention to her food and finished the porridge.

The only member of Spock and Christine's family not present was their oldest son, Sapel. Three years before, he had requested permission to live in ShiKahr with his grandparents and attend the Terran Embassy School. Since that time, he had done well, but there was an undercurrent of restlessness that remained and Spock knew the reason -- Sapel missed the planet of his birth and was determined someday to return there. The problem was that, although Avalon had been approved for colonization by the Federation, it was already inhabited by primitive, sentient beings and the issue was being handled with delicacy. The small colony on the planet was primarily exploratory at the moment, its members carefully chosen for their experience and value.

Spock and Christine had been asked early on to return and serve as advisors and administrators, but twelve years of exile there had been enough. Both longed for a normal lifestyle on a civilized planet. Resigning their commissions in Starfleet, they had settled on Vulcan to pick up their lives and raise their children.

But, as time passed, both began to miss the expansive beauties of the world they had escaped. Not even Spock's family estate of Keldeen, nestled on the northern side of the Llangon Hills and overlooking the polar prairies, covered in miles of _tikh_ grain, grown by the family as part of Vulcan's food bank, could match the quiet and the crystalline air of Avalon. There was always the bustle of a busy house on a busy world, of people coming and going, of the tedium of routine and never-ending decisions to be made about the estate's management, about crop yields, about Christine's attempts at returning to her bio research while raising a brood of small children. A constant, subtle stress began to develop. Spock and Christine both began to realize they missed Avalon and wanted to return.

It was the "problem" they had discussed over and over and finally, the evening before, had made their decision. They both missed the free life they had lived on Avalon without the overlying pressures of the modern world. They had decided to leave Vulcan and return to the world on the edge of the Romulan Empire where they'd been left for dead but had learned to survive. Without realizing it, they had grown to love the vast beautiful planet with its strange animals and unexplored vistas.

Now both of them could begin the process of winding up their affairs here and starting the process of moving back. Of course, it was not as simple as hopping on a ship and going. They would have to apply for colonization, be approved, and then there would be a long period of time as they made all the preparations necessary for an interplanetary move. Meanwhile, life would go on here on Vulcan, but now there was an exciting future ahead of them.

First Meal ended and the family members began to rise and head off to their daily jobs. The children were allowed to return to their chambers to ready themselves for the school day, and the kitchen workers and Christine began to clear away the remains of the meal. Spock started for his office to begin his day's work, his thoughts already going over the agenda he had reviewed the evening before.

He had just stepped onto the stairs to ascend to the second level of the house, where his office was located, when T'Saik, one of the family members who oversaw the cleaning of the huge residence, stopped him. "Spock, there is a communication from your Honored Mother. She urgently requests to speak with you."

"Indeed. Thank you." Spock went back down the stairs and turned into the library, where the nearest comm unit was located. There was a blinking red "hold" light and he sat down before the screen and punched the button.

Amanda's worried face appeared on the screen. She was old now, her well-loved features heavily wrinkled with age, though her blue eyes generally still shone with the vitality of a lively mind. Today, however, they held a hint of fear and she did not waste time with greetings.

"Spock, is Sapel there at Keldeen?"

"No, of course not," her son answered. "Is there a reason he should be?"

"He didn't come home last night, Spock. He and Sarek had another argument and he left in his speeder, we assumed to go into ShiKahr. But this morning, he didn't come down to breakfast and his room was empty. His bed hadn't been slept in." Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Spock, I think he's run away."

"Mother, I doubt that he has 'run away'," Spock answered calmly. "He is an adult, remember. More likely he simply decided to spend the night at another location, probably the Terran Embassy, and did not wish to wake you or Sarek to inform you. I am quite certain he has left you a message with that information."

Amanda seemed a bit calmer. "I suppose you're right, Spock. I'm sorry for disturbing you this early in the morning."

"Not at all, Mother. It is always a privilege to speak with you. And please do not concern yourself with Sapel's safety. He is perfectly safe anywhere on Vulcan. I am certain he will be home soon."

She nodded. "Of course. I'm a silly nilly to worry so much about him. Have a good day, Spock."

"And a pleasant day to you as well, Mother."

He waited until she signed off and then rose to continue to his office. T'Saik and her crew had begun the morning cleaning and had opened the doors and windows to allow in the morning air, still cool enough to be refreshing before the day heated up. Outside, Spock could hear the farm workers begin to head out toward the fields as planting continued on this year's crop of _tikh_ , and farther away was the sounds of the estate's animals lowing as their caretakers began to feed them. Birds twittered in the surrounding _a'qa_ trees, the leaves whispering as the breeze moved through them.

And there was one other sound that barely registered in Spock's conscious, so common and ordinary that it was simply part of the faint background noise of the modern, everyday world.

It was the sound of a ship dopplering out from the ShiKahr spaceport on the other side of the mountains, heading for the stars.

* * *

Ruddy Smith leaned back in his office chair, one foot propped up on his desk, and said, "Come" as he looked over the datapadd in his hands. He didn't seem to notice the young Vulcan male who entered, their new crewmember/passenger -- David Grayson.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" the young man asked.

"Sit," the captain directed, then added pointedly, "David Sapel da ... um ... Nickerk?"

"da'Ni'ikhirch," the boy answered automatically, using the proper pronunciation, then caught himself. "So ... you know my name."

Smith tossed the datapadd onto his desktop and folded his hands across his stomach, pinning the Vulcan with a steady gaze. "You think I don't thoroughly check out who comes aboard my ship? I got your ident last night right after I got back here. I know that you're the son of Commander Spock of the _Enterprise_ and the grandson of Ambassador Sarek. I know you and your family were marooned on Avalon for twelve years. And I know you've skipped town and that there's probably a sizeable reward out for your return by now."

Sapel looked panicked. "Sir, please don't contact my family--"

"Relax, boy. I'm not going to turn you in. I'd've done that before we lifted ship if I meant to. You're a grown man and I figure a grown man's got the right to do what he pleases, long as it doesn't break any laws or serious taboos." Smith's expression softened just a bit. "I just wish you'd done me the courtesy of being square right from the start."

"Sorry, Captain. I didn't think you'd take me if you knew who I was."

"I might not've. But then again, I might've. Honesty is best, son. So, now ... tell me why it was so damn important to get off Vulcan and where you're really headed."

Sapel sighed. "I'm going home, sir. Back to Terra Two ... er ... Avalon."

Smith cocked a curious eyebrow. "That's hell and gone across on the other side of the Alpha Quadrant and it's restricted space. What's so important there?"

"Like I said ... it's my home. I was born there and grew up there. I never wanted to be 'rescued' or taken back to 'civilization.' I don't belong on Vulcan or any of the other Federation planets. My family and the authorities won't allow me to go back through 'official channels', so I decided to get home any way I could." The young man's brows lowered slightly in a frown. "I guess if that doesn't satisfy you, then you'll just have to turn me in."

Captain Smith set his foot back into the deck and rose, standing with hands on hips. "Well, I guess that depends on how I'm feelin' when we get to Salaxis. So you'd better keep your nose clean, hm?"

Reflexively, Sapel reached toward his nose, but the captain stopped him with a smile and a dismissive gesture. "Go on and get squared away. Chow is at 0700 ... and new man does the washing up chores the whole voyage."

* * *

By evening, it had become apparent that Sapel was not coming home and the authorities had been alerted. Amanda had taken to her bed and Christine was nearly as frantic. Only the Vulcans seemed calm, although Chapel could see that her husband's patience was thin, a sure sign of stress that Spock was barely containing.

Sapel's usage of his credit chip showed that he had registered at the Tal'Sal'Nava Hotel, but investigation of his room found his robe, the remains of a meal, and evidence that he had done quite a bit of shopping for new clothing and sundries. He had also withdrawn a large number of credits onto a travel card. His speeder was missing from the hotel's garage.

The Vulcan authorities tracked the speeder's transponder through the pleasure district of the Old Quarter, and then eventually located it parked in a garage near the cargo entry of the spaceport. From there, it didn't take long to track Sapel's retina scanprint as registering his access through a cargo gate at the spaceport fourteen hours earlier. Eight cargo ships had left ShiKahr by noon that day and it was a logical assumption that Sapel had been on one of them. It was simply a matter of contacting the ships and requesting their crew and passenger lists. Sarek and Spock had assured their distraught wives that the missing family member would be back in the fold quite soon. Then the two men ventured to breathe a very quiet sigh of relief themselves.

And Spock began to rehearse mentally the "talk" that he would need to have with his errant son.

* * *

"Message, Captain," said the woman in the co-pilot's seat.

Ruddy Smith didn't look up from the datapadd he was scribbling on. He simply grunted an affirmative, meaning that his partner was to relay the information. She knew him well and what all of his various expressions, motions and noises meant. She had been married to him for 22 years. She flipped on the Receive switch and a slightly accented voice issued from the commboard.

" _Mandalay_ , this is Vulcan Space Central. We are relaying a message from the Ambassador to Earth, Sarek cha'Skon, regarding a missing person of his household, Sapel cha'Spock, age 20, black hair, brown eyes. We have reason to believe he took passage on this or a similar ship at approximately 0600 Vulcan Eastern Meridian Time this day. Please transmit your personnel manifest. Failure to respond to this message will result in restriction of docking privileges on Vulcan for ten standard months. Vulcan Space Central out."

The woman reached for the computer to key in the answering transmission when Ruddy stopped her. "Reply with crew manifest of 0400, today's date."

The co-pilot turned puzzled and slightly skeptical eyes on her husband. "That's not a current readout, Rud," she said. "You know this kid's on board."

"Don't know nothing of the sort, Seiko," he answered blandly. "We don't have any such crewmember on board this ship."

"Rud," she reproved him. "Don't you think they're going to notice that the report we send them is 17 hours old? They'll want a current list."

"Funny how our subspace radio acts up sometimes, isn't it?"

Seiko Smith sighed in exasperation. "Do you want us blacklisted from Vulcan?"

The Captain met her gaze calmly. "Vulcan isn't the only planet, you know. I've been thinking about Avalon since I found out who our passenger is. That's a whole new territory opening up out there. If we get in early on the action, we can make a fortune ... and call our own tune to boot!"

Seiko shook her head, her short inky hair moving like an onyx wave. "You are out of your mind," she told him and reached again to send the reply message as directed.

* * *

Sarek handed the readout slip to his son, his face careful not to reflect how deeply the strain of this was affecting him. "Vulcan Space Central reports that all ships contacted report that they have no one matching Sapel's description on board."

Spock drew a deep sigh and centered himself. "Then we broaden our search. It is probable that he remains on Vulcan but somehow managed to leave the spaceport without being detected by automated identification posts. Or, he may still be on the grounds of the port somewhere. There are a finite number of possibilities, although that number is higher than we anticipated. I shall inform Christine of these findings."

"As I will inform your mother." Sarek allowed his gaze to drop for a moment, then brought them back up. "Why would Sapel do this? Why would he leave without informing someone?"

For a second, Spock could not suppress a slight expression of sardonic amusement. "I suspect it is because he is my son. I do recall an unauthorized excursion into the mountains when I was seven."

"You do not suspect this is a _kahs-wan_ of some sort, do you?"

"No, of course not," Spock answered. "He successfully passed his manhood ritual while we were on Avalon." The Vulcan looked thoughtful. "No, I suspect this is a bid for the freedom that has been denied him since we have returned home."

"It is simply irresponsible!" Sarek declared, his control breaking. "You put him into my custody, to educate and care for! I have done my best to fulfill that bargain, but Sapel has fought me at every turn! He is Vulcan and is destined for a great role in our planet's future! I have tried in every way possible to get that across to him, but he rebels and wants to go his own way!" Sarek had actually begun to pace as he ranted. "Hard-headed, just as you were! Independent and determined to go your own way! Both my sons – disappointments! Now my grandson one, too. Leaving home, telling no one, forcing me to bear this once more!"

Spock's eyebrows had risen steadily as he watched Sarek's tirade and then he knew. It had been he himself that had been desperate to get away from his father when he was Sapel's age. Starfleet had been his escape route, but Sapel's path lay in another direction. And he had his answer.

"I know where Sapel is headed, Father," he interrupted Sarek. "Why have I not seen it before?" Sarek stopped pacing and looked inquiringly at him. "Sapel has set out for his home ... Avalon. We must seek out a ship bound in that direction."

* * *

Sapel was resolutely feeding the dinner dishes and pots into the small cleaning unit in the galley when Captain Smith ambled up behind him. "How's it going, son?"

"Fine," the young man answered, drying his hands on a ragged kitchen towel and turning to face the human. "And I wanted to thank you for not turning me over to the authorities. Bully told me what you'd done for me."

Smith waved it away with a dismissive hand. "Nada," he answered, then got himself a fresh cup of coffee and sank into one of the chairs around the dining table. "Come and sit down. Tell me about Avalon."

"What do you want to know?" Sapel responded, getting his own cup of tea and sitting across from the captain. "There's not much there. It's not inhabited, except by the Lemurian people and I understand that the Federation has declared them off-limits."

"There's the Fed colony, too. Know anything about that?"

"Nothing much. Just what I've overheard from my father and grandfather. There are about 100 colonists ... scientists and their families. But if I get back to Avalon, I'm not going there. I intend to head for the hills ... be on my own. Or, maybe look up some Lemurians I know. I don't care what the Federation says. I know those people and they'll hide me if I need it." He paused. "Why? You can't go to Avalon."

Smith smiled lopsidedly. "Kid, we're Free Traders and we go wherever the hell we want to in this galaxy. Well, pretty much. You'd be crazy to go into Tholian space. But mostly where there's people, there's trade." His grin spread. "We've even been into Klingon space a few times. Nice folks, the Klingons, if you know how to talk their language … and I don't mean the lingo, although I can speak enough of it function. You'd be surprised how a barrel of blood wine can sweeten a deal with them. We haven't tried out the Romulans because they get real touchy about people going across the Neutral Zone but otherwise, we're on our own out here. I'm thinking of branching out a bit. So, tell me about Avalon."

"Well, to begin with, we didn't call it that. My family, I mean. We called it Terra Two because it looked so much like Terra," Sapel answered, looking down at the steaming mug between his palms. "Not that I've ever been there, but it's my mom's home world and she told me about it as I was growing up. Where we lived was mostly plains, although there was forest to the east of us where we hunted sometimes. Way off to the west were mountains, but we hardly ever went that way. Most winters we'd travel down south to the sea where we had a cabin and we'd stay there until spring when the skeeters and flies got so bad that we'd have to leave and go north again."

"How'd you get between places? That sounds like it's a far piece to travel."

"We walked. How else _would_ we get to where we were going?"

"You _walked!_ " Smith's eyes widened. "Good lord, son, how far was that?"

"I don't know distances." Sapel thought for a minute. "It usually took us a month or so, sometimes more. It just depended on how long we camped places and when we stopped to hunt meat."

Smith took a long sip of his coffee, now getting cold. "And you lived there for how long?"

"Well, I was born there after my parents had been there for about a year or so. It's hard to tell time because Fed time is mostly based on Earth time and Terra Two's year is longer by about three months. So, I was about 15 when were found, by Fed counting, but 12 or so by Terra time. I think Mama told me that she and Pa were there for twelve of Terra Two's years. I get confused by it all. You could look it up in the records if you want to know exactly."

The captain made a dismissive gesture. "Doesn't matter. I was just curious. Tell me about these Lemurians."

"Well, one year when we were on our way to Sea Home – that's what we called our cabin in the south – my dad got hurt real bad by a big grass eater. We didn't really have a name for it but it was sort of like a … rindo? A big Earth animal with a horn on its nose."

"Rhino?"

"Yeah, that's the one. He stumbled on it in high grass before he saw it and it attacked. Broke his thigh bone real bad and gored him. He nearly died but Mama managed to get him to this stand of big hollow trees and get him inside. She's a doctor, but he was about gone when one of the Lemurians found us. Turns out they were intelligent and this Lemurian, her name was Picku, her father was the tribe medicine man and he had ways to heal bad wounds. He saved my father's life."

"Remarkable!"

"Yeah, well, anyway, I was a kid then and so was Picku and her brothers and sisters and we all got to be good friends."

Smith and Sapel sat for the next couple of hours as the young Vulcan told his story. As the next mealtime came, they were joined by Seiko Smith, the captain's wife and first officer, who prepared a light meal and put it on the table. The rest of the small crew came to eat and stayed to listen, all of them fascinated by the unlikely life their young passenger had lived.

After a while the captain suggested that they had stations to man, one by one the others got up and left the dining area until again just Captain Smith and Sapel remained. "Well," the young man commented, "I've got dishes to do." He started to rise, but Smith waved him back into his seat.

"Sapel, how'd you like to stick with us all the way back to your planet? Be a regular part of the crew until we get you home. You know what gives with the natives and I know how to deal with the Feds. I think we can do business together."

Sapel couldn't suppress a very un-Vulcan grin. He stuck out his hand and Smith grasped it. "Captain, you've got yourself a deal!"

* * *

Christine Chapel wiped tears off her face and tried to pull herself together after reading the farewell message from her son that had been found on his speeder's recorder. "You're sure?" she asked her husband as they stood in their bedroom, the late night sounds of Keldeen whispering a soft backdrop. "He's really going home?" She was in her nightgown and had been about to get into bed when Spock came back from his parents' home in ShiKahr.

"I believe so," Spock replied, resting his hands on her shoulders in a gesture of comfort. "And one more thing, which my parents decidedly do not agree with. I believe we should not interfere with his decision."

Christine turned her blue eyes on his face, shocked. "Spock! How can you even think such a thing?! Of course, we should try to find him!"

"How old is Sapel?"

"Twenty," she answered.

"And how old were you when you left home?"

"Nineteen," she replied, beginning to see what he was getting at.

"I was seventeen when I left Vulcan to attend the Academy," Spock confirmed. "I considered myself quite grown up and able to make my own way in life."

His wife couldn't help a sheepish, rather watery smile as she wiped away tears. "So did I. You mean that it's time to let Sapel go. That's he's left the nest and we need to let him fly."

"I do."

She swiped at another batch of tears that flowed down her cheeks. "I can't bear to think that my baby's gone ... all grown up." She sighed raggedly. "I'm not ready. I don't think I'll ever be ready." She heaved another trembling sigh and tried to turn a brave face up to her tall husband. "But I'll get used to it, I suppose. He'll always be my baby boy, but I know deep down that he's a man now and ready to find his way in life. I would like you to continue to try to find him, though, just so we'll know he's all right. Let him know he has our blessings."

"Of course," Spock answered. "I shall do so. I agree that we need to know his whereabouts and let him know that we support and love him, no matter what he chooses to do with his life."

Christine nodded, sniffed and straightened. "And we still have four other children to raise and our own decisions to make. What now?"

"What we have already decided," he responded softly, pleased to see that Christine was displaying her core of strength and pragmatism. "We continue to make our plans to relocate our family to Avalon. If all goes well, then we shall meet Sapel there at some point in the future."

The woman nodded then and sank into his arms. "Just one request first, though," she sniffed. "Just come to bed and hold me. I need your support and love tonight."

Spock enfolded her in his warm embrace and rested his cheek on her dark hair. "Always, my _t'hy'la_."

It was going to be a long night.

 

THE END


End file.
